


Postcards From Moscow

by comebackjessica



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ghosts, Humor, M/M, Romance, Russia, Supernatural - Freeform, Tommy is a little shit, Very Little Angst With Lots Of Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-27 03:24:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20400877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/comebackjessica/pseuds/comebackjessica
Summary: AU. Alfie is a grumpy taxi driver that had found himself in Moscow, out of all places. The urban legends about ghosts jumping taxis (and skipping on the bill) do not scare him, no sir, that is... until he really does find a ghost on the backseat.





	Postcards From Moscow

  
  
  


_ ©Mad Books Publishing House, Ltd., 2019 _

Alfie had always assumed Russians didn’t fear the ghosts of their leaders since they had plenty to fear from those yet living. When he first came to Moscow, though, his fellow taxi drivers fed him some unbelievable tales about Stalin, Lenin, and the apparently haunted city districts. Some of those spooky stories made Alfie’s skin crawl, some were wildly entertaining, and some made him reconsider his particular attraction to night shifts. Yes, those were quiet and paid more, but as a somewhat spiritual Jew, he highly doubted ghosts would be ideal passengers – hardly seemed like they had enough cash on them in the first place.

“Ghosts from the Soviet Union, my friend,” his friend Andrii had said one night just before they switched cars for Alfie’s graveyard shift. “These are the worst, trust me, okay? Stay out of Kremlin, yes? They haunt the place. And it’s not like your little London subway spooks.”

“Underground.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“Why the fuck would I not go there, mate? And on a Friday? ’s full of hookers and rich blokes, innit?” Alfie said casually before dropping his cigarette to the curb. 

“You don’t want to meet old tovarish Stalin. I mean it.” With the way Andrii was leaning on the car and smirking at him, Alfie really couldn’t tell if he was serious.

“Fuck, I don’t care for old Commies, mate.” Alfie leaned into the car to check the glove compartment and adjust the driver’s seat. He might ooze big dick energy, all right, but out of two of them, Andrii  _ actually was  _ six feet tall. “I ain’t scared of any fuckin’ mustaches.”

Andrii chuckled and shrugged dismissively. “I’m not scared either,” he said. “But ghost fares aren’t fun.”

“Is that so?” Alfie finally sat comfortably and reset the meter. His whole body language suggested he was ready to leave and so his friend finally got the message.

_ “Da.” _ Andrii closed the door for him and winked. “They don’t pay. Happy All Saints’ Day!”

Alfie drove off after that and Andrii couldn’t really tell if he was waving goodbye or giving him the finger. The night was quiet for a Friday or maybe Alfie was subconsciously choosing the less bustling streets. Moscow by night was something London could never compare to. First of all, yeah, he’d never seen women with fingernails so sharp and stilettos so high. Also, something he had learned his first night here, the company didn’t pay them extra for a weekend car cleaning because there was no way to outdrink the Russians. There just wasn’t. Last weekend, right, Alfie drove a guy to the gas station and saw him mistake antifreeze for an energy drink. The guy didn’t even flinch. Also, once he picked up a girl from the club who was so drunk she could barely sit straight but spoke perfect English all the way to her house. Coincidentally, she had also offered to blow him in the car but that might just be because Alfie’s so damn dashing, all right? Right.

The first couple of fares tonight were rather uneventful but the money was good and the people in festive moods so Alfie couldn’t complain – which of course doesn’t mean he didn’t. It so happens, though, that his first somewhat unsettling fare of the night caught him mid-complaint. Since he was thoroughly English, however, he was not about to let some Russian ghosts spook him – Halloween was yesterday, fuck’s sake. 

“Need a lift, love?” He asked the woman who waved at him from the sidewalk. 

She said nothing and so Alfie just assumed she didn’t want a taxi after all, but then she collected her multiple skirts and entered the car without a word. 

“Right… Where to?” He asked, in the best performance of the Russian language he could currently do.

“ _ Novodevichy _ cemetery, please,” she said quietly, barely moving her lips at all. 

“Sure. Whatever Lola wants, yeah...”

Alfie drove in silence for a couple of miles but couldn’t really help himself not to look at the girl in the driver’s mirror every other crossing. She was pale as a sheet and dressed like a bride – that is, one that had spent at least a couple of centuries in the ground. The costume (because God, just… please let this be a fuckin’ costume) was remarkably accurate if it wasn’t for the painfully modern gel nails, sharp as daggers and painted crimson red. Finally, Alfie pulled up to the cemetery which to his surprise was still open at this hour. 

“Right, here we are, darlin’...” Before he could say anything else, the girl handed him the money without even asking for the amount and quickly got out of the car. 

“Yeah, you… take care, yes?” Alfie asked after her.

“Thank you,” she said in the same quiet voice and covered her face with a delicate veil. She walked slowly towards the gate and, just like a nightmarish apparition, quickly disappeared among the decaying graves and tombstones. 

“Fuck me…” Alfie murmured and stopped the car. This was the perfect opportunity to smoke one and so he opened the door and turned to the side, with his feet firmly touching the ground. It was a chilly night and it was bound to snow soon again; with the air crisp and clear. Alfie regretted for a minute that he’d forgotten his scarf but the cigarette quickly warmed him up regardless. Just as he was about to turn back inside and start the car, someone behind him said:

“I need a ride home.”

_ “Jesus fuck me, Christ!” _ Alfie dropped what was left of his cigarette on the ground and turned around to face the intruder. It was a man in his mid-thirties, with the bluest eyes Alfie had ever seen and the most obscene fucking cheekbones. 

“I need a ride home,” the man repeated, with the Irishest accent Alfie had ever heard.

“You’re sneaky, eh? Fuck, you scared me…” Alfie shook his head and started the engine again. “What’s the address?”

The man sank deeper in the backseat and looked outside with unseeing eyes. 

“I don’t remember.”

Ah, fuck. Another high one or maybe just fuckin’ dramatic?

“Right, well, I can’t drive you somewhere I don’t know, can I now, so you either make up an address or it’s the end of the line for ya, mate.”

The man sighed impatiently as if it were Alfie who was the nuisance here. He crossed his arms, probably for warmth, and turned his head towards the driver’s seat. Their eyes met in the mirror and Alfie felt strangely uneasy.

“I live in London.”

“Great. To the airport then?”

“No.”

“Ah, fuck…” Alfie rubbed a palm over his face. “Get out, mate, really. I fuckin’ beg ya, okay? I’m tryin’ to make an honest livin’ over here!”

Thoroughly unbothered, the man just smiled and put his hand on Alfie’s shoulder. The hand felt heavy; for some unexplained reason heavier than it should.

“I’m Tommy.”

“I’m fuckin annoyed, mate.”

Tommy chuckled and leaned back again. 

“The airport sounds alright to me, actually.”

“Fuckin’ finally,” Alfie sighed, closed the door and put his seatbelt back on. They left the spooky cemetery in what might have seemed like a hurry on Alfie’s part but it certainly wasn’t, if anybody should be bold enough to ask, thank you very much.

“So what exactly is happening at that cemetery, huh?” Alfie asked after they’ve been driving around for a while. There was a shift at the backseat and his passenger said nothing so Alfie decided to drop it. He turned on the radio instead and managed to find a station that didn’t play shitty Russian techno.

“Where are we?” The other man asked after a while. Alfie peeked at him through the driver’s window to check if it was really him who spoke or maybe he was going crazy.

“Going to the airport, mate.”

“I don’t want to go to any airport! I’m not… Feeling well. Pull over, driver!”

Alfie’s first instinct was to pull over and get rid of the pesky guy altogether, however, something didn’t let him. They stopped near some park. As soon as Alfie turned off the engine, Tommy opened the door and gasped at the coolness of the evening air. Alfie got out of the car to take a better look at him and, mainly, check if he was going to be sick all over his fucking taxi.

“You alright there, treacle?” Alfie pressed his side to the car and observed the other man like a hawk. “What’s your last name, eh?” He asked. “Can I call a hotel or somethin’? You don’t look so well. Got any friends yer stayin’ with?”

“Thomas Shelby, 179th Tunneling Company,” the other man wheezed and put his head between his legs. “My bloody head is spinning...”

“What?” Alfie took a step back, thinking the guy’s gonna puke since his breathing was so heavy and his skinny back shook like a twig. “Fuck, c’ mere!” Alfie took out a bottle of water from the glove compartment and crouched down in front of Tommy. “C’mere. Hey. Thomas. Tom… Tommy boy, look at me. Here ya go, lad.” He managed to lift the guy’s chin and make him drink some water. He’s seen those eyes before, glazed over and unseeing. The guy probably took something and was having a panic attack. “What did you take, eh?”

“What?” Tommy had finally managed to utter a complete word; he did so with an impressive implication of Alfie’s astonishing audacity. “Give me more.” He pointed at the water bottle.

“Yes, your royal highness.” Alfie chuckled and handed him the bottle. Tommy squeezed the plastic curiously a couple of times before taking several sips of someone who had been parched for centuries. 

“Your majesty,” Tommy corrected him with a grin. “It’s used for addressing the king or queen. The other one is just for princesses.”

“Aye, yer a queen alright.” Alfie snorted and leaned back on the car. “Who are you?”

Tommy just shrugged and finished the bottle in two big gulps. 

“Got another one of those?” He asked with a deep sigh.

“Nah, ‘m ‘fraid the buffet is closed, mate.”

“Let’s get more.”

“Oi, you do know this is my livin’ here we talking ‘bout, Thomas? I ain’t your chauffeur.”

“You live in the car?” Tommy asked and raised one eyebrow. 

“The car is my office, alright? ‘S not a cruise ship!”

“But I don’t even know where I am.” Tommy looked at him sternly and something in Alfie didn’t let him just strand the annoying fuck in the middle of nowhere outside of Moscow. 

“Fine,” Alfie growled and ran a hand through his messy hair. “I can be nice and give you a lift to a gas station, alright? But then I leave.”

Tommy nodded in agreement and, although Alfie had some serious doubts about this plan, they arrived at the nearest gas station as agreed upon – both Alfie’s taxi and Alfie still puke-free, praise the gods. Alfie went out to pump the gas and meanwhile, Tommy slipped out of the back seat and went inside the store in a manner, not unlike that of a moth being drawn to light. Before Alfie had managed to connect the dots and finally spotted Tommy inside, the guy had already a basket full of chocolate, sugary coffee drinks, and travel vodka bottles. For a minute there, Alfie thought that this weird bloke was almost cute, what with his thin frame, weird clothes and calling him “driver”, before reminding himself that he was probably played for a fool here and that this Shelby person most likely didn’t have a penny on him. He marched into the store and ambushed Tommy in the queue:

“Got some spare change for my gas, too?” Alfie barked at him a little harsher than originally planned.

Tommy looked at him, eyes wide and lips squeezed sternly.

“No.”

“That’s what I fuckin’ thought.” Alfie took the shopping basket from him and started emptying it, at which Tommy made the weirdest sort of disappointed whine behind him, and so he had to buy at least two chocolates and some whiskey. His heart couldn’t take it, alright? He was weak and very gay.

“Yeah, and a pack of red ones,” Alfie pointed to the cigarette stand behind the cashier and took out his wallet. “Right, these are for my skinny friend over there, don’t look at me like that,” he mumbled before entering the pin code. The cashier looked at him somewhat incredulously but said nothing.  _ Probably the language barrier, _ Alfie thought and turned around to herd his weird passenger back to the car. To his initial state of absolute worry, Tommy was nowhere to be found.

“Ah, fuck!” He took the plastic bag from the counter and went back to where he left the taxi, in hopes that Tommy might be somewhere in the bushes taking a piss or whatnot, and not in fact hijacking his only source of livelihood. Thankfully, the little shit was there, spread out on the back seat and watching the midnight sky with his head hanging out the door. For the second time in a span of five minutes, Alfie felt like he couldn’t take it anymore. This ethereal creature of a man was just too much for his gayness to remain contained. Not to mention, this was Russia. Not too many pretty boys altogether.

“Hmmm,” Alfie growled at him but couldn’t really keep his face straight when Tommy smiled at him and outstretched his hands for the chocolate. “Yeah, yeah…” Alfie gave him the sweets and the vodka, out of which the latter was consumed immediately. Alfie watched with keen interest, although still thoroughly convinced that the guy must be on something and mixing said something with booze was not the best option. So he decided to keep watch. Just in case.

“Stop glaring,” Tommy murmured mid-chocolate bar. “I can feel your eyes on me.”

“Well, yeah.” Alfie tried to make his tone as accusatory as possible. “That’s what you get when you enter a taxi thoroughly stoned, introduce yourself like some 1918’s fuckin’ soldier, right, and then have the audacity to be broke and ask for chocolate. So yeah, mate, allow me to be pretty fuckin’ concerned.”

“For you or for me?” Tommy smirked cheekily.

“Mostly my car.”

“Fair enough.”

They sat in silence for a while there; Alfie watching Tommy from the front seat, smoking his cigarettes, and Tommy slowly but surely putting himself into a sugar coma. Finally, he wiped his lips with a dirty khaki shirt sleeve and said quietly:

“But I am a soldier...”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it.” Alfie scoffed and put out his cigarette. “And I’m the long lost princess Anastasia.”

“Fuck off.”

“Gladly, mate. As soon as you tell me where to drop you off.”

Alfie could physically  _ feel  _ Tommy rolling his eyes at him and so he lit another one. They must have been sitting like this for nearly an hour until Alfie finally checked his watch and realized what time it was. 

“Ah, fuck! I have to go. Come on, mate, the picnic’s over.” Alfie turned around only to see an empty backseat and colorful chocolate wrappers. “What the hell?” He got out of the car to inspect the surroundings. It was impossible for him not to hear Tommy leave, although… He never saw him coming in the first place. He stood for a while in the empty parking lot, feeling the sunrise creeping upon him. Finally, he threw out the trash, cleaned up the car and drove back to the station, chewing on the last salted caramel candy bar.

When Alfie finally arrived home, his brain did everything it could to communicate how dead-tired he was, and so he took a long hot shower, smoked one more cigarette and went straight to bed. The issue was that he couldn’t fall asleep for the life of him. He kept thinking about that night and that weird passenger of his. In the end, he just laid there for an hour, mulling over last night and the bizarre encounter. To his absolute annoyance, he just tossed and turned, trying to come up with some rational explanation for Tommy’s disappearance, but in the end, there was none. He tried to act surprised when the next night on the job, he pulled over at the same damned cemetery again. He opened the door and lit a cigarette, waiting for… Just for something to prove that this wasn’t just a hallucination caused by too many cigarettes and too little sleep.

“Hello, Alfie,” a deep familiar voice said right next to him. Alfie tried his best not to get spooked but he flinched a little and turned around so fast that he dropped some hot ash on his jeans. 

“Ah, fuck!” 

Tommy chuckled softly and kicked back on the passenger seat, this time choosing to sit a little bit closer to Alfie.

“I didn’t think you’d show up,” Tommy said, after having observed Alfie frantically rubbing at his thigh.

“Nah, well, neither did I but here we are, mate,” he barked and tossed the rest of the cigarette out the window. “You owe me a shitload of money for that ride, Tommy.”

Tommy looked at him pensively, as if really contemplating the request. 

“I do, eh?”

“Yeah. You fuckin’ do so you better get me some of that ghost dollars or zombie rubles, or whatever the fuck you got on ya.”

Just as Alfie had finished, Tommy grabbed his wrist and squeezed. Hard. 

“What did you say?”

“That yer a ghost. Alright. That’s what you must be since you be fuckin appearing and disappearing from my car, you nutter.”

“Fuck you.”

“Well, apparently you can do that... since you seem pretty fuckin’ corporal to me, Casper.”

“My name is Tommy.”

“Yeah. I know.” Alfie grinned at the infuriated expression Tommy was currently sporting. “But you said you were a soldier, right? I checked that 179th Company on Wikipedia last night-”

“On a what?”

“It’s a website.”

“A what site?” The grip on Alfie’s wrist became stronger and he had to wiggle free in fear of the angry specter actually breaking his arm.

“Here. I’ll show ya.” Alfie took out his phone and showed Tommy how to access the website he was reading yesterday. “And look. I found ya.” He pointed to the picture and zoomed in on Tommy’s mud-covered face. At first, Tommy looked at the device as if it was magic and then decided to take it in his hands and look at the article for himself. 

“Yeah,” he said softly after a couple of minutes of reading. “I know.”

“You know what, Tommy?”

“I know that I’m dead. I’m just surprised you were so quick to believe it.”

“Aye, well… I talked to Andrii again.”

“Who’s Andrii?”

“A friend.” Alfie grinned at him cheekily. “He’s a… ghost expert. Of sorts, yeah. Knows all about ghosts showin’ up in Moscow, that sorta thing. Ghosts who don’t pay the fare.” He winked at Tommy and noticed a faint blush creeping up on his ghost passenger’s cheeks.

“Well,” Tommy returned the phone to him and cleared his throat. “And I don’t suppose you’d be willing to drive me around for more chocolate, eh?”

“Not every night, mate, no. And definitely not tonight. I gotta work and shit.”

“Sure, sure…” Tommy nodded, resigned, and opened the passenger door.

“Well, maybe just for an hour?” Alfie proposed just as Tommy was about to close the door behind him. Alfie had never seen a smile so bright before that; be that on a living or, apparently, a ghost.

He told himself not to fall for Tommy’s charm but in the end, he absolutely did, and so he drove him around for more than an hour. It turned out that Tommy could make himself invisible if he wanted to which made picking up passengers along the way that much easier and the prospect of bankruptcy a little further away. After the first couple of days, it became their little routine which, Alfie thought, was mutually beneficial. He got to talk to someone and spill out his nonsensical stories, and Tommy… Well, Alfie thought he actually liked the company. He must have since he told Alfie just exactly how he found himself in Russia. 

“They told us to volunteer for air force if we wanted extra money for our families,” Tommy explained one night, completely out of the blue. At first, Alfie was about to ask what the hell was he on about but then he realized that, for the first time, Tommy was actually spilling his guts and so he shut up. “It also meant no more tunnels, so I volunteered. The training was short and vague because we… uh, we weren’t supposed to come back.”

After this, Tommy went completely silent and so Alfie did the only sensible thing and hugged him tightly. And although he was fully prepared to get his teeth kicked in by a hundred-year-old ghost tunneler, Tommy didn’t try to wiggle out. They stayed like this, cuddling until Alfie’s arm went a little numb and Tommy’s survival instincts kicked in. 

It was in December that things went completely wrong, at least according to Tommy. He waited for Alfie in knee-length snow for three consecutive nights, but he never came. By the fourth night, he became worried but at the end of the week, he was just plain furious. Mostly at himself, for letting himself believe in a… well, any sort of connection. And so he stopped waiting for Alfie and came back to roaming the empty cemetery alleys in silence. Tommy would sometimes sit at someone else’s grave for a bit of comfort but only occasionally. Russian ghosts were particularly nasty if you invaded their space. His grave wasn’t really there at the cemetery, just his remains; scattered near the gates, covered up with dirt, some gravel and, now, snow. That’s why he could never leave but also felt like he hadn’t really had a final resting place. It was New Year’s and nearly midnight when Tommy finally decided to forget about that insufferable taxi driver and fully commit to his eternal solitude. He might never see Alfie again and, quite frankly, didn’t want to, ever again. Not ever.

“Oi, hi there, treacle.” Apparently this time it was Alfie’s turn to spook him and Tommy had to admit that it really worked. Tommy was currently occupying some old woman’s tomb and made a point of turning his back to Alfie and turning invisible out of spite. 

“Aye, that won’t work anymore, ’m afraid.” Alfie came closer and stood right in front of him with a beaming smile. “Hi. I’m sorry I couldn’t visit.”

“You could’ve warned me,” Tommy scowled but carefully turned visible again, really baffled at Alfie’s new superpowers. “How come you can see me?”

“This is why I couldn’t visit, mate.” Alfie scratched his beard in that nervous tick of his that Tommy thought really endearing. “Decided to race with an uber. Turns out they really are the superior technology, those bastards.”

“What?”

“Car accident. And coma.” Alfie sat down next to him and for a split second there Tommy could see Alfie’s post-mortem look. Alfie turned to normal very quickly but the image was so shocking that Tommy didn’t really know what to say.

“I’m…”

“Don’t be.” Alfie winked at him and put his arm around him just like he used to do before. Even though he wasn’t warm anymore, Tommy snuggled up closer. “Now, where the fuck should we go tonight, eh?”

Tommy looked up at him and chuckled in disbelief. 

“You got your car?”

“Damn straight I got my car.” He jumped off the tomb and outstretched his broad, calloused hand towards Tommy. “Come on, mate. Let’s drive around and haunt a parking lot.”


End file.
